Serendipity
by Twistedsystem009
Summary: Serendipity (n) - the chance occurrence of events in a beneficial way
1. Chapter 1 Prologue

**SERENDIPITY**

 **PROLOGUE**

* * *

Delacourt Lylieve would do anything for his wife. Yes, he adored Celeste, loved her with every fibre of his being. She was a pretty young thing; golden hair and shimmering grey eyes, a fair countenance. She was truly lovely.

Celeste did not love Delacourt. She was wed to him when she was young, but fifteen summers. Her family needed the money, and he was a wealthy baron. He showered her with gifts and gold - fancy silk dresses, pearl combs, bejeweled barrettes, lacy shawls. She would smile half-heartedly, accept his chaste kiss, and return to her sulking. She only ever left her room on the uppermost floor of the house at mealtimes and to sit in her garden.

Celeste longed for more. She read and read, and dreamed desperately of leaving Summer's Garde and moving to Skyrim, or Valenwood, or even Elsewyr. Yet she was stuck, like the princess in the tower, gazing out at the world from her mullioned window.

Delacourt knew naught of his wife's wishes; in fact, Delacourt knew nothing about anything. He was a right fool, with his head in the clouds, ever the optimist. He did not know that in the streets of Summer's Garde a woman named Marina held a fierce passion for him. He did not know that Marina's love slowly turned her mad, knowing that Delacourt worshipped a woman who held no regard for him, when Marina loved him so vigourously. He did not know that Marina had called upon the unholy matron of the Dark Brotherhood and prayed desperately that he would suffer as she suffered, and thus they would fall deep, deeply in love.

And her prayers were heard, and delivered unto an assassin by the name of Lucien Lachance. Lucien arrived in Summer's Garde on a sparkling, dewey morning. Celeste Lylieve was gone by twilight.


	2. Chapter 2 Miss Lylieve

**SERENDIPITY**

 **CHAPTER ONE**

 **MISS LYLIEVE**

* * *

It was a cool, glittery morning in Summer's Garde. Dew clung to the flowers and a mist rose above the waters. Droplets of the previous evening's rainfall still fell from the trees, splashing on the cobblestones.

Celeste awoke to pale sunlight streaming through the curtains, slanting across the papered walls and onto the floor. She lay awake for some time, listening to the bustle of the town below. The smell of baking bread wafted through her window, which stood open just a crack. Celeste crossed the room and closed it. The sill was still damp from the rain. She breathed in the scent of the pinewood.

There was a knock at the door. "You may enter," Celeste called, dropping her eyes to her fingers gripping the windowframe. The hinges creaked and light footsteps drew near. "Morning, lady." said a cheery voice from behind Celeste. "Come now, you must prepare yourself for breakfast." it said. Celeste heard the sound of a stool scraping across the hardwood floors. "Lady Celeste, you'll get a splinter from the wood. Come,"

A small, pale hand took Celeste's elbow and led her to the table. The handmaid adjusted the mirror so that it pointed directly at Celeste and tsk'd gently. "I've been telling Roderick to varnish that sill for ages, the lazy oaf." she said. "You look ill, milady. Did you rest well?"

Celeste nodded. She glanced up and saw the maid hovering near her head, a short brunette woman. She took an ivory comb to Celeste's hair, gently tugging it through her tangles. Her hands worked quickly, and she began to chat absentmindedly.

"I hear that Liliana's nephew died, the poor woman. She works down in the kitchens, washes dishes. They say that Miss Gilly's shop just put out a new batch of hats. Beads and lace, I think they said. Fine work. They've been selling some calico dresses, too. All very beautiful, if you're interested, milady."

Celeste traced the edge of the table with a finger, listening to the handmaid talk. It was a nice distraction. "Yes, perhaps I'll go to the market today." She said, lifting her head. Her eyes landed on a little glass bottle that was nearly empty. "I'm almost out of perfume."

"It's a fine morning to be out and about. I'll gather a few servants to escort you after breakfast, milady."

Celeste's smile faded. She had forgotten about breakfast. "Yes, of course," she said, crossing to the armoire. She pulled open the heavy door and stepped aside, letting the light illuminate the hanging dresses. She chose a simple gown, made from georgette fabric printed in summery shades - rose, peach, and a fine, crisp white. Over her shoulders she tied a knitted shawl for warmth.

Celeste descended the many flights of stairs to the dining hall. As she did so, the smells of breakfast cooking below made her stomach growl. She was almost glad she had chosen to eat.

In the dining hall, Delacourt sat waiting for her. He rose when she entered and placed a chaste kiss on her cheek. She sat across from him and waited patiently as the servants brought out the food. She ate in near silence, occasionally answering his questions with a murmured 'yes.' He fussed over her, peering at the slight purple-ish shadows under her eyes and the paleness of her skin. Celeste smiled politely, said, "I'm fine, love," and looked back to her plate.

When they had finished eating, two tall, Redguard handmaids appeared with the little Breton from earlier. They led Celeste through to the entry hall and out into the streets, adjusting her barrette and her skirts every now and then.

The townsfolk greeted Celeste as she strolled through the streets, looking into storefront windows with a vague interest. She stopped at Miss Gilly's shop and entered. The room was heavily perfumed, and the curtains were still drawn over the windows. An old woman hobbled out of the backroom.

"Good morning, Mrs. Lylieve. How may I assist you today?" she said, smiling. "I'm just looking around." replied Celeste, taking a few steps toward the dresses. "That's what you always say."

"Say, where did this fabric come from?" Celeste asked, running her fingers over the calico and tracing its patterns. "Hammerfell, my dear." Miss Gilly answered. "We don't use the cheap knock-off prints from High Rock." she said proudly. A small smile graced Celeste's features. "It's lovely."

"Quite." said the old woman. "Are you looking to purchase a gown?" she asked, sounding somewhat hopeful. "Not today, I'm afraid." Miss Gilly shook her head with a small sigh. "Of course. Have a fine day, Lady Celeste."

Celeste browsed through the rest of the market and stopped at the old well. It was made of crumbling stones and was overgrown with moss. It had been there as long as she could remember. She took a seat on a little wooden bench in front of it and said to the handmaids, "Go and look for yourselves. You have my blessing."

They left her in the quiet, empty square. Boughs hung low over the stone walls, shading it. Violets grew in the cracks in the cobblestones and flowering vines adorned everything. It was peaceful.

"A fine morning, isn't it?"

Celeste started. She glanced up and saw a man leaning against one of the mossy walls. He was an Imperial, sun-tanned with black hair tied back in a tail. "I'm sorry," Celeste said, shielding her eyes from the sun. "Do I know you?"

"I don't believe so. I'm just passing through." the man said, approaching her. "Lucien Lachance. And you are?" he said expectantly, holding out a hand. "Celeste Lylieve, good sir." Celeste replied, placing her hand in his. He bent to kiss it. "What finds you here in the shade on such a beautiful day, Miss Lylieve?"

Celeste smiled, glancing downward. "It's peaceful here." she said simply, inviting Lucien to sit on the bench beside her. " 'Tis, it is." he said, looking around. "Almost as peaceful as the square in Chorrol." he added. "You've been to Chorrol?" Celeste asked innocently, toying with the lace on her sleeve. Lucien looked round at her with something like disbelief. "You haven't?"

"No, I was born here in Summer's Garde and I will surely die here." said Celeste, laughing slightly. In truth, the thought made her ache. "You don't have to," Lucien said, taking her hand. "Such a smart, fine lady like you should stay cooped up here for so long."

Celeste laughed again, and this time it was genuine. "I'm married to the baron." she said, shaking her head. "I couldn't just pick up and leave."

"I know I said that I'm only passing through, but I've heard my fair share of gossip about this town." Lucien said, placing his other hand atop their intertwined fingers. "One rumour suggested that perhaps you do not love the baron as he loves you."

Celeste moved as if to pull her hand from his grip, but she stopped halfway. She bit down on her lip. "Perhaps, but..." she paused, searching for just one reason not to leave. "But what?" Lucien prompted softly, brushing her cheek with two fingers. "I don't know."

"Do you not want to see the world, Celeste? Kvatch and Skingrad, and the Abecan sea, and the Castle of Cheydinhal?" he said, pulling her to her feet. "As I said, I've heard many rumours. And I'm a traveler."

Celeste looked up, into Lucien's eyes. She felt a rush in her chest. This was the exact moment that she'd dreamed of; this was her freedom. "Yes," she said, confidence in her voice. "Yes, I want to leave."

Lucien smiled at her. He released her hands, taking a few steps backward. "Meet me here, at sunset." he said.

And with that, he disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

Celeste did not doubt once that she had made the right choice. From the moment she returned to her darkened, empty room on the fourth floor she began to plan. She would dress lightly, and bring nothing with her but gold. She would have to sneak into the safe room and then down the stairs and out the servant's door. The thought thrilled her. This was her faerie tale moment, the kind she had read about in all of her books.

It was surprisingly easy to get into the safe room. Delacourt kept the key in his nightstand, and he was only ever in his room to sleep. Celeste took a hefty sum and returned the key, then retreated to her room once more. She wore a summer dress printed with flowers and a tied a light, flowing shawl around her waist to keep it from getting in the way.

When the sun hung low in the sky, Celeste deemed it time to leave. She took one last look around her room, with the floral wall paper and the lace curtains. Her bed was made up, and the sill still had not been varnished. She felt no sadness whatsoever as she turned her back on the room that had become so much like a prison for her.

Celeste found that she did not, in fact, have to use the servant's door. She simply told Delacourt that she was going on a quick walk before dinner. He insisted that she bring a handmaid or two with her, but she refused. He smiled up at her and pressed a light kiss to her cheek.

"I wondered if you would come." Lucien greeted Celeste when she arrived. She smiled. "I always keep my promises." she said. He tilted his head slightly. "I promise you, Celeste Lylieve, that I will show you the world."

Celeste grinned; she could not contain her joy. Lucien led her to one of the low walls and knelt before her, cupping his hands together. "You have to jump over. I don't believe the guards would let the baron's wife just walk out of the town."

Celeste stepped up and hoisted herself over the wall. She scraped her palms on the rough stone. Lucien followed soon after her. He brushed dirt from his trousers and looked up, smiling at Celeste. He reached out for her hand.

"And now, our odyssey begins."


	3. Chapter 3 The Great City of Cheydinhal

**SERENDIPITY**

 **CHAPTER TWO**

 **THE GREAT CITY OF CHEYDINHAL**

* * *

Lucien Lachance had completed many contracts in his years at the Brotherhood, but never one quite as strange as the Lylieve job. He had been asked to give slow and painful deaths, and he had been asked kill noblemen and break apart families, but he had never been asked to drive someone mad.

It was a brilliant idea, of course; in fact, Lucien admired it. That poor woman was insane, but she was definitely a genius - a psychopathic one, but a genius nonetheless. There was but one loose end - Celeste. What was he to do with her? The contract never specified. He could kill her, but she was innocent, and Lucien did not kill those who did no wrong; he may inadvertently drive them mad, but he did not kill them.

In truth, Lucien was making up his plan as he went along. He doubted his abilities to keep up his guise for long. And yet, after spending but an hour in Celeste's company, he found that she had already grown on him. She was smart, and very, very pretty, even Lucien had to admit. She was naive, although she had spent most of her life in a quaint little town in eastern Cyrodiil as a baron's wife, so he forgave her for that.

Every now and then, during the lulls in their conversation, Lucien glanced over at Celeste. She was faintly illuminated by the dusky twilight, her hair blown back by the soft breeze. Her shawl fluttered around her knees, and it reminded him of a veil. It seemed to catch the moonlight and provide its own luminescence.

They reached a little roadside tavern a few hours later, where they took up for the night. Lucien leaned against the bar and slid a few septims across the counter. "Two beds," he said, holding up a hand. The publican looked between Lucien and Celeste, a smirking tugging at his lips. "Have a good night," he said, holding out a key to Lucien and winking. As they walked away, Lucien swore he saw Celeste throw a look in the bartender's direction out of the corner of his eye.

It was a cozy little room, with one single bed against either wall. There was a table in between them, and on it a pitcher of water and two cups. Celeste sank onto the edge of her bed, whereas Lucien collapsed onto his. She poured water for both of them and downed hers in a second.

"So," she said. "You said you're a traveler, but everyone has to come from somewhere. Where were you born?" she asked, leaning back against the wall. Lucien looked over at her, then pulled himself into a sitting position. "Bruma. I lived there for most of my childhood."

"Mm," Celeste hummed, a smile curving her lips, slowly, lazily. "Bruma. What's it like?" she asked. Lucien took a deep breath, thinking. "Cold, dark. The sun hardly ever shines, and even when it does, it's still cold." he said. "In the fields... the grass is white, stiff from the frost, and so is the ground. Hard, packed soil. Violets grow in the countryside, and apple trees, too. The only colour." Lucien found a smile dancing across his face. Celeste was leaning forward, her chin propped up on her hands. She was watching him intently. "There was an orchard. An old barn up on a hill, bright red and white paint. The last time I saw it, it was faded. An old woman owns it now. She doesn't take care of it anymore. Can't get out in the fields to do the picking and farming. Her husband's dead, her children left her. She has a dog, but," Lucien paused for a somewhat dry laugh. "he's not going to be of any help, eh?"

"That's... terribly sad." Celeste said, looking at him with an expression that read either shock or pity. "That's the way the world works." replied Lucien. Celeste inhaled deeply, chewing on her lower lip. "I wouldn't know, I guess," she said with a hint of bitterness. "Summer's Garde was... it was _boring_. The same thing, every day. There was nothing to talk about besides the weather, or the old lady that died last week. Everything was dragged on. Something interesting would happen, and we would still be talking about a month later, a year later." Celeste stopped herself, a small sigh brushing over her lips. "I guess I... I envy you. I mean, the world is dull, it's depressing, but it's not like _that_." she said. "You see those little towns, quaint and full of sunshine, not a care in the world, but it's a living hell."

Celeste fell silent. She dragged a hand through her hair, sighing again. She sighed often, Lucien had noticed, while she was thinking. Lucien studied her for a moment, her eyes fixed on the half-empty water pitcher. He leaned forward, blowing out the candle on the nightstand. "I'm retiring." he said. Celeste didn't respond, just extinguished the flame on her own candle and settled down on the bed.

Lucien lie down on his side on the scratchy sheets. He fell asleep like that, watching Celeste lying on her back, staring at the ceiling. He occupied himself watching the steady rise and fall of her chest.

* * *

There were no windows in the inn room, so Celeste had no idea what time it was when she awoke. Lucien was still asleep, flat on his back, head turned to the side. Celeste draped her shawl over her shoulders and unlatched the door. There was no noise from the bar. She stepped into the corridor, barefoot, and peered around the corner.

The main room was empty. Even the publican had retired. Through the windows, Celeste saw it was early morning. She took a seat on one of the benches and watched the sunrise. A few minutes later, her reverie was broken by footsteps drawing near. She turned and saw Lucien standing in the doorway, blinking sleep from his eyes. "Morning," she said, smiling slightly. He grunted and went behind the bar, pulling out two amber-tinted bottles.

Celeste followed Lucien back to their room, where he sank back onto his bed and tossed one bottle to her. He uncorked his own and took a hearty swig, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'm not awake until I've had at least one bottle of ale."

Celeste chuckled. She held out hers to him, saying, "I don't drink." Lucien just looked at her. "You... don't drink?" he repeated. Celeste shook her head. "I'm a 'lady', remember?"

Lucien actually smiled at that, though it was more of a smirk than an actual smile. "Ladies don't leave their husbands to travel the world with strange men they've just met." Celeste rolled her eyes. "Just take it."

Lucien took the bottle, uncorked it, and handed it back to Celeste. "Drink." he commanded. "You have to try ale at least once." Celeste stared at him for a moment, then sighed and took the bottle. She drank from it.

"Well?" Lucien prompted when she said nothing. "I'm not going to satisy you," Celeste replied, looking away and crossing her arms over her chest. "That means you liked it," Lucien said, smirking again. "You definitely liked it."

They left before anyone else had awoken and took a few more bottles of ale, leaving the proper payment on the counter. They walked along the road for an hour or so before Lucien stopped and turned to Celeste. "I promised I would show you the world, and there's more to Cyrodiil than just cities and mountains."

Before Celeste could ask what he meant, Lucien took her hand and began to cut a path through the field, toward the treeline. They reached it a few minutes later, and set off into the wood. They walked for some time before Lucien stopped abruptly and Celeste nearly tripped over her own feet.

They stood atop a cliff of sorts, where the earth sloped downward and then kept on going. Way beneath them, Celeste could just barely see a pond. She looked over at Lucien. "Is this what you were so excited about?" she asked, raising a brow.

"Come with me,"

They descended from the bluff, stumbling over roots and rocks. When they finally reached the pond, Celeste saw what was so enchanting about it.

A mist hovered over the water, which was cold and still. Flowers grew at the edge, beautiful, vibrantly-coloured flowers. They gave off a lovely scent that filled the air. The ground was all soft, dark soil and green leaves. A tall oak tree stood nearby, its large roots almost like benches.

"The travelers that have seen it think that it's enchanted, a place of refuge when you're lost. I stumbled upon it once when I was on a - on a trip, late at night." Lucien stuttered, though Celeste paid his hesitation no mind. She was too fascinated by a butterfly that had landed on her finger. "If you find it once, you'll always be able to find it again."

"This is beautiful." Celeste said, spinning around to face him. The flowers at her feet rustled and a cloud of butterflies erupted from them, fluttering in the air above her head then returning to their stalks. They were the flowers.

Lucien leaned against the old oak, watching Celeste as she knelt at the waters edge. She was wide-eyed with excitement like a child. Lucien was smiling. "We need to keep going if we mean to reach Cheydinhal before nightfall."

Celeste looked up, still beaming. "Yes, of course," she said, climbing to her feet. The butterfly flowers once more exploded into the air with a burst of colour as she stepped over them.

About four hours later, Cheydinhal was within sight. It was a beautiful city, even from a distance, surrounded by flowery meadows whose scent carried along even the slightest breeze. The towering stone walls were climbed with moss and jasmine vines, and daylilies grew in their shade. The castle's spires rose into the sky, nearly piercing the clouds, and the church steeple stopped just a foot beneath them.

It was a busy city, thrumming with life. The marketplace was bustling, a cacophony of voices that drifted into the surrounding streets. The houses were beautiful, mostly red cherry wood and dark grey stone. The temple was something to see; its stonework was stunningly intricate, and the stained glass windows cast rainbows onto the streets.

After they had stocked up on supplies, Lucien led Celeste back toward the eastern gates, and along a little residental street. They stopped at house that looked as if it had long since been abandoned. The windows were boarded shut, and all sorts of plants adorned the stone-and-wood walls. Celeste looked over at Lucien, brows raised.

"Wait here," he said. "I have business inside." He put his hand on the knob, then turned and looked Celeste square in the eye. "Promise you won't follow me inside." he said. Celeste hesitated a moment. His gaze was intense. "I promise." she managed, sounding breathless.

The door slammed shut behind him.

* * *

Lucien made his way through the familiar house, breathing in the stale air and the cobwebs. He stepped carefully over smashed pottery and glass shards. By now, the floorboards had disintegrated, leaving dark earth beneath. Sunlight filtered in through the ceiling slats and the messily-boarded windows upstairs. Lucien passed straight by the staircase and descended into the basement.

The floor in the basement was still solid, though some of the stone tiles were cracked and missing in places. Lucien knew where the avoid them; he had gotten his boot toe stuck more than enough times to memorize the exact spots. He slipped through a fissure in the wall and began to walk forward in total darkness, one hand extended to guide him. His fingers grazed jagged, wet rock.

A faint red glow begin illuminate the narrow passageway. Lucien had reached the huge, curved doorway to the Sanctuary. He touched his hand to it and it swung forward to admit him. He was greeted loudly, with many claps on the back and handshakes. "Lucien!" Antoinetta exclaimed with a beatific smile. "I just made dinner, you really must stay!"

Already Lucien could smell the pungent garlic. "I'm afraid I can't tonight, Antoinetta." he said, exchanging a glance with Vicente over her shoulder. "Why not? Your contracts can wait." the Breton insisted. "Ah, yes, but..." at a loss for words, Lucien trailed off and simply walked past her, toward Vicente.

"How did your contract go?" he asked. "Succesfully, except..." Lucien looked around to make sure no one was listening in. "I don't know what to do with the wife. I don't want to kill her." Vicente frowned. "Where is she now?"

"Outside."

"Oh - my," Vicente took Lucien by the elbow and led him further back into the corridor. "So you can't kill her. You could just leave her here, in Cheydinhal." Lucien shook his head. "No, she's far too naive. Something bad will happen, I know it." Vicente sighed. "Well, what do you want to do, Lucien? Recruit her into the Brotherhood?"

"No, no - I - I don't know." Lucien said, growing frustrated. "You'll just have to keep her with you I suppose." Lucien closed his eyes and sighed softly, tilting his head back. "From what Gogron said, you seem quite smitten."

"What? Gogron? How - " Lucien began, but Vicente held up a hand to silence him. "He was out at the tavern, and when he came back he said he saw you with a woman that you seemed very taken with." Vicente smirked. "He said he saw you _smile_."

"I'm not taken with her. Don't look at me like that, Valtieri." Lucien said with a warning tone. "It's just business." Vicente's smirk widened. "Oh, my sweet summer child," he began in the airy tone that he used to mock Lucien. "Who said you cannot mix business and pleasure?"

"Give me my next contract." demanded Lucien, holding out a hand. Vicente withdrew a scroll tied with twine from his vest. Lucien snatched it from him. " _Goodbye_ , Vicente." The Breton called after him,

"Tell your darling lover the Family says hello!"


	4. Chapter 4 Little Angel

**SERENDIPITY**

 **CHAPTER THREE**

 **LITTLE ANGEL**

* * *

How long had it been since they left Cheydinhal? Four days? And yet Vicente's words still rung in Lucien's head every time he looked at Celeste. Was he really taken with her? He couldn't tell anymore.

There were so many reasons to love her. She was beautiful, and she was clever. She was full of life; everything was an adventure to her. In some ways, she was like a child. There was danger somewhere out there, but not right in front of her. The world was infinite and everyone in it was kind. How someone could not love Celeste Lylieve was incomprehensible.

"Lucien? Lucien, are you all right? You're awfully quiet."

Celeste stood before Lucien. For a moment, the fire behind her made her only a silhouette. Then, her face came into focus, and she smiled. She wore a dress (when Lucien had suggested that she wear something more flexible, she absolutely refused) that they had bought from a traveler on the road. It looked like something from Summerset Isle, made of loose, peach fabric and crossed over her chest with a gold clasp. In one hand she held a bottle of wine, and in the other two cups.

Celeste collapsed into the chair across from Lucien. She uncorked the wine and poured some for them both, then set the bottle aside. "So," she said. "where to next?"

Lucien was silent for a moment. He took a swig of his wine. "The Imperial City, I suppose." Celeste grinned. "Ooh, exciting." She sipped her drink and glanced around the little inn. It was one of the many on the Silver Road; they had beds and food for cheap, only because they got so many customers. Tonight they had quite the crowd.

Around the fire was a group of three burly Nord warriors, who all could have passed for half-giant. They were the loudest, laughing and eyeing the servant girls. A few merchants were scattered around the room, mostly fur and jewelry; they got the most business both on the road and in the city. The nobles were always looking for some exotic animal's pelt, or a fine, handcrafted necklet of elven make.

Two very pretty women were entertaining two very drunk mercenaries in the corner. A Khajiit and a Dunmer sat at the counter, not talking to each other or the barkeep. A serving girl on her break sat alone at one of the tables, and she kept shifting uncomfortably under the eye of an Imperial mage across the room. Finally, two bards were attempting to out-play each other while a Bosmer and an Orc watched with vague interest.

Lucien took this lull to study Celeste. Though they had not been on the road for long, her pale skin had already turned a light gold. Her blonde hair was unkempt, pulled to the side in a loose braid. A curl had sprung free, and hung just above her ear. A smattering of hidden freckles had appeared across the bridge of her nose and on her cheeks.

Absentmindedly, Lucien reached out and brushed the lock of hair behind her ear. He didn't even realize he had actually done it until Celeste looked over at him, something like shock on her face. "Hey," she said breathlessly. Lucien opened his mouth to reply.

A loud crash cut him off. Celeste flinched violently and jumped to her feet. The floor shook beneath them. One of the Nord men had fallen face first onto the stone hearth, bringing a bench down with him and shattering several bottles of mead. His friends helped him up, laughing all the while, and everyone else looked thoroughly shaken. Celeste turned to Lucien. She took his hand, knotting her fingers through his. Her voice was soft when she spoke. "Let's take a walk."

It was a warm night, though a cool breeze swept in from the north. There were a few wagons parked beside the inn, and save for that the road was deserted.

"You've been acting strange lately." Celeste said, crossing her arms over her chest as the wind blew. "You retreat into yourself whenever there's a silence, and it just feels like... I don't know. Like you're not all there."

"Ever since Cheydinhal, really." she continued. "Are you keeping something from me?" she asked, meeting his gaze. Her face was illuminated by the silver moonlight. She reached out and took his hand in hers. "You can tell me."

"I've only known you for a week, Celeste." Lucien said. "I know, but I feel like I've known you forever." she began, taking a step forward. "That's not what I meant."

Celeste's brow furrowed. She opened her mouth to speak, and Lucien began to cut her off, but something interrupted them yet again.

A shrill, bloodcurdling scream pierced the air. It was quickly cut off, leaving a deadly silence in its wake. Celeste set off at a near run in the direction of the sound after she had regained her senses, and Lucien followed.

He recognized the man at once; it was the Imperial wizard from the tavern. He had an uneasy feeling about the man the moment he laid eyes on him. And he was right - the man had pinned the serving girl he had been stalking against a tree on the roadside. One gloved hand covered her mouth, and the other fumbled with her skirts; her apron lay at her feet. She was crying.

Lucien had yet to see Celeste truly angry until that moment. With a strength he didn't know that she possessed, she pulled the man away from the girl, pulled back her arm, and punched him hard in the nose. Lucien saw the blood cascade down his face, over his mouth and his chin. He was silent, completely stunned, and Celeste hit him again.

Lucien rushed forward to intervene, for he thought Celeste might kill the man. By now, most of the inn had poured out onto the road. The three warriors were approaching. One of them easily and gently picked Celeste up and set her aside. Lucien's hand was still holding on tightly to her skirts, which he had been grasping to try to pull her away. Celeste, still fuming, jerked them out of his grip.

The shortest of the three, a red-bearded man carrying a battleaxe, slapped the mage on the side of the head. The Imperial fell over, unconscious. He was still bleeding profusely. The Nord proceeded to carry the man bridal-style back into the tavern. The serving girl was escorted inside, sobbing, by her friends and the barkeep. Eventually only Celeste and Lucien remained.

By now, Celeste's anger had faded to pure adrenaline. She was breathing heavily and her movements were quick. "Wow! I can't believe I did that!" she nearly yelled. "I could - I could punch a - a - that guy! I could take him on!" she exclaimed, punching the air and jumping around like an excited child, pointing at the tavern door. Lucien assumed she meant the red-haired man, though it was hard to tell as she wasn't making much sense. "I don't know why I would want to, though, he seems a nice man, but I could! How far away is the Imperial City?" she asked suddenly. "I could walk there right now, I don't need sleep!" she shouted. "Yeah!"

"No, no, no," Lucien said quickly, grabbing Celeste by the shoulders and pulling her back. She had started to walk away, in the completely opposite direction of the Imperial City. "That's the adrenaline talking, Celeste. Please don't try to punch that man, he will tear you in half."

"I feel great!" Celeste yelled, grabbing Lucien by the shoulders. "I know I don't drink often, but I want to get very, very drunk." she said, nodding vigourously. Most of her hair had fallen out of her braid and hung in a halo around her head. "Okay," Lucien said, not quite sure if he wanted to argue with her when she was like this. She grinned and shouted something incoherent, practically dragging him back inside.

The rest of the night proved to be just as interesting as the beginning. The adrenaline rush must have ended at some point, but by then Celeste was too drunk for it to make much of a difference. The three Nord men continued to buy rounds of drinks and they never quite seemed to get that drunk, though Celeste proved to be a lightweight. It was quite a show, honestly. Her words were barely intelligable, though the Nords still laughed at every pause. Lucien thought it might have been because they too were amused by Celeste, a perfect lady in most situations, stumbling and slurring and swearing like a sailor.

In the early hours of the morning, long after Lucien had given up and retired to his room, there was a knocking at the door. He shuffled across the room, still blinking sleep from his eyes. One of the men stood in the corridor with Celeste draped over his shoulder. He ducked through the doorway and laid her across the bed, bidding Lucien goodnight before he left.

Lucien stood for a moment, staring at Celeste in her dreamless, drunken slumber. He shook his head and adjusted her so that she was under the linens, then slipped in beside her. Just one more reason that Celeste Lylieve was impossible not to love.


	5. Chapter 5 The Merchants Festival

**SERENDIPITY**

 **CHAPTER FOUR**

 **THE MERCHANTS FESTIVAL**

* * *

The Imperial City was a sight to see. It was far bigger than Cheydinhal, and far more impressive. A great tower rose from within and disappeared into the clouds. All around the water were flowers - praire-fires, pansies, violets - and the stable fences were buried beneath honeysuckle. The bridge into the city was a sea of people; every inch was full. Celeste could see colouful banners and ribbons hanging from the gates.

"Is it always like this?" she asked Lucien, finding herself having to yell to be heard. Lucien was looking ahead, brow furrowed. "No." he answered, and fell silent. He only spoke again once they were inside of the city, and it was not to Celeste.

"Is there a festival in town?" he asked a guard. "Yes, sir." the man answered. "It's the Merchants Festival today, tenth of Sun's Height." Lucien sighed, turning to look at the crowd filling the streets. Celeste gave a sly grin. "You promised." she said, taking him by the hand and pulling him along.

Every street was lined with stalls and wagons. Merchants called out, advertising their items and low prices. Celeste saw vendors selling soap, jewelry, hats, and all numbers of things. In the Market District, tables had been set up all around the square, and tables laden with food called out to the crowd. Overhead, vivid banners were strung between buildings and trees, and confetti and ribbons were being thrown about.

Celeste dragged Lucien through the crowd; she often heard him sigh, indirectly voicing his reluctance and annoyance. She chose to ignore him. She stopped once at a tea stall run by an Altmer woman whose smile was just a bit too wide. As Celeste surveyed the many bright, small boxes, she was all too aware of the slanted golden eyes fixed on her coinpurse.

Celeste ended up with a bar of soap that smelled of strawberries ("Honestly, I don't think I've ever seen you bathe," she said to Lucien), a surprisingly cheap pair of blue woolen socks, and a book on the flora and fauna of Cyrodiil, with alchemy recipes included.

When they finally reached the square with shops, Lucien's interests peaked. "Winter is only a few months away." he said. "Traveling clothes should be more affordable now than ever, with the lowered prices." Celeste felt a smile tugging at her lips. "Aren't you glad I dragged you with me now?" she teased.

Around noon, they had finished all of their shopping. Celeste was absorbed in her book, and Lucien was eating an apple pie. The square was quite full by that time; all of the tables were full, and some had to stand and eat, though everyone seemed to be having too great of a time to care much.

At one point, Celeste thought she heard a distant scream. She glanced up from her book, but no one else seemed to have noticed, so she dismissed it. A few mintues later, she heard it again, and now it was closer. Others had heard it too; a silence fell over the square. Celeste saw a crowd of people moving toward them; she couldn't make out their faces, but she saw one figure in the very back that appeared to be a troll, and two in front holding flaming rings.

A buzz started up in the square, everyone whispering to their neighbours. The figures were moving closer every second, and Celeste heard a roar of voices vocalizing and singing bawdy tavern songs. Finally, the crowd filed into the square.

Three women held rings that were alight with flickering orange-yellow flames. A tattooed Breton was juggling knives, and two veiled Redguard twins held woven baskets at arms length in front of them. There was a whole band of flutes, lutes, drums, lyres, and instruments that Celeste had never seen. A few acrobats - a Khajiit, Dunmer, and two Bosmer - danced in front. Two men came in fencing each other with long metallic sticks that quivered in the air, their faces hidden by masks depicting extreme expressions of joy and grief. There was a cloaked couple on stilts that danced together, and, finally, a troll whose wrists and ankles were iron-clad.

Celeste was speechless. She glanced at Lucien, who was staring straight ahead at the circus, his brow furrowed in something like disapproval. A woman dressed all in black, covered head-to-toe in tattoos and piercings, came out in front to address the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" she yelled, spreading her arms wide. "Welcome to our circus!" There was a bit of scattered applause; no one was quite sure how to react. "We hope you enjoy the show!" With that, she gave a dramatic bow and tipped her tall hat. She stomped both feet in a sort of jig, and fire erupted from her heels. By then, everyone had begun to clap.

Celeste had never been to a circus before, so naturally every act impressed her greatly. It started off with the four acrobats dancing through the flaming rings, though never burning themselves. Then, the knife-juggling Breton performed, while the ringmaster shot spells at him. The two Redguard women sat on the ground before their baskets, playing flutes. Green, poisonous-looking snakes rose from within, and at one point they were completely lifted into the air. The two men in masks sparred with each other, shouting at each other as if they were in a play, with the couple of stilts acting as their audience.

The very last act was the most interesting, and, reflecting on it, the most disturbing. The troll was made to fight conjured antronachs, still shackled. The crowd roared with applause. When that act was finished, the ringmaster returned and spoke a few words, then, with deadly precision, tossed her hat into the crowd like a boomerang. When it had returned to her, it was full to the brim with gold. She did her jig again, and fire rose from beneath her feet. The band played together as they processed out, while the crowd added to the din with their shouts, tossing septims at the retreating backs of the performers.

"That was..." Celeste began as she and Lucien left the square. " _Very_ interesting, I have to say." She laughed, and Lucien smiled. They ended up renting a room at a small inn in the Talos Plaza District, called the Foaming Flask. They were up quite late, finally retiring around midnight. As Celeste crawled into the narrow bed, which had a very soft mattress but itchy sheets, she heard a bout of racous laughter from the bar. Behind her, Lucien chuckled. She fell asleep listening to that - his laugh and soft snores.

* * *

It was a hot night in Summer's Garde. A gentle rain fell from the sky, and thunder rumbled softly in the distance. The twin moons were crescents tonight, partially obscured by thin grey clouds moving southward across the sky.

In the baron's manor, one window was still alight on the uppermost floor. The baron had a congregation of townsfolk and his own guards gathered in his office. He paced behind his desk, hands clasped behind his back.

"I want you to search all of Cyrodiil, do whatever you can to find her." he commanded. "Go to Cheydinhal, get the Count's permission and ask for as many men and hounds as he's willing to give." The baron stopped and leaned over his desk, palms flat and fingers splayed out across the glossy wood. "Stop at nothing until you find my wife." His eyes searched the faces of every man in the room. "Did you hear that?"

"Kill the men that had the gall to take her from me. Make them regret ever laying a hand on my darling Celeste. Stop at _nothing_."

* * *

He was the owner of a prestigious tea shop in the Market District, and he was filth. He lived in a grand house in the west side of the Talos Plaza District. He was also a thief. There was a professional term for that, though - _businessman_. If he had been caught by the guards, he would have been charged with money laundering and tax evasion. But thankfully, he was caught by someone much worse.

Lucien left in the early hours of the morning. He hadn't meant to be up so late, but Celeste was particularly talkative that night, and it was hard to refuse her. So now, at four in the morning, Lucien was strolling the empty streets of the Plaza District. His dagger hit his thigh with each step he took.

He was a relatively easy kill. Lucien climbed the trellis beneath his window and slid open the window, which was unlatched. He slashed his throat, and the blood stained the white sheets beneath him. Lucien took the gold and the jewels, and left.

When he returned, Celeste was sleeping with her back to him. He watched her for a moment, then sighed, his fingertips ghosting across his dagger. "I'm sorry."


	6. Chapter 6 Light Luck

**SERENDIPITY**

 **CHAPTER FIVE**

 **LIGHT LUCK**

* * *

Two days after the Merchants Festival, confetti still littered the streets and banners still hung from the rooftops. The excitement had worn off, and life in the Imperial City was back to normal.

Lucien and Celeste had decided to stay a few extra days, for one could not see all that the city has to offer in only one. They had visited the Arboretum, watched a match in the Arena, and visited nearly every shop. Lucien had gotten a new pair of boots and a furlined cloak, while Celeste had purchased a few more books on alchemy, along with equipment and some ingredients. They were strolling through the streets one last time before they left in a comfortable silence, their bags already slung over their shoulders.

Lucien felt a tap on his arm. He looked over and saw a man in a cloak that he didn't recognize. As he opened his mouth, the man shoved a scroll and a small leather coinpurse into his hand, then left. Celeste had stopped walking, and looked over, frowning. "Who was that? A courier?"

Lucien shook his head. He stepped out of the road, beneath the overhang of a shop, and Celeste followed. He pulled the vermillion ribbon holding the scroll together. The parchment unrolled, and Lucien saw a familiar elegant cursive scrawl on the page.

 _L,_

 _Earlier tonight, on the eleventh, Gogron was returning from a contract. He said that a small group of men entered the city before him, and he followed them out of curiousity. They went to the Count, and they were brandishing posters that displayed a face he said seemed familiar - the woman that he had seen you with only a few days before. He came back to the sanctuary and told us immediately. The baron has sent out a search party for his wife, and he requested help from the Count. Now he has twenty-four men and nine well-trained hounds at his command. They're heading for the Imperial City. You must leave immediately. Go to Bruma, and then come back to Cheydinhal. You'll be safe here. Gogron said he overheard the men talking, and they were threatening death upon the man who had, for lack of a better word, 'stolen' Mrs. Lylieve. This is urgent. Leave when you recieve this letter, for they are surely close by. I've included enough gold for a horse; I don't believe you'll be able to pass them on foot._

 _I wish you luck,_

 _Vicente_

Lucien's breath caught in his throat. He grabbed Celeste by the elbow and lead her down a backstreet. "Lucien, wh - ?" she began, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand. "Give me your bag." he commanded, and she complied. He pulled out a little glass bottle of perfume. "Have you ever used this before?" he asked. Celeste shook her head, looking extremely perplexed. "Good."

The perfume formed a cloud of mist around Celeste's head. She coughed and stumbled backward, pinching her nose. "What in Oblivion is _wrong_ with you?" she whisper-yelled at Lucien. "I can't explain right now, just - just put on the rest of this. Use _all_ of it, and here - take my cloak. Come on, hurry,"

Lucien looked around the corner, at the gates. They were there - exactly twenty-four men, some clad in mail and others in farmer's clothes, with nine hounds on leashes. Celeste tapped Lucien's arm. He turned to her. "Pull up your hood," he said, pushing her hair behind her shoulders and ears. "Keep your head down and follow my lead."

Lucien wrapped an arm around Celeste's waist. He kept his head high and didn't dare look beside him at the men. Just as he thought he had made it past without suspicion, one of them called to him.

"Oi! 'Scuse me, have you seen this woman, sir?"

The man held up a poster, and Lucien took it from him. Directly in the centre was a large likeness of Celeste, and beneath it words printed in bold type that called for her 'rescue' and the death of her captors. "No, sir, I haven't." Lucien said. The man frowned at him. "Well, be on your way. Keep that, and if she does turn up bring her back to the city."

Lucien tucked the paper into his cloak. Those men were right fools. Lucien was sure they would have caught them then and there. They walked down to the stables in silence, where Lucien paid for one horse. As the stablemaster untied and saddled the mare, Lucien bent down and whispered in Celeste's ear.

"Your darling husband has sent out a search party for you, and the Count of Cheydinhal is aiding him. Twenty-four men and nine hounds." he said. He felt Celeste tense. "We're skirting the city, stopping in Bruma, and going back to Cheydinhal. We'll be safe there, trust me."

The stablemaster handed the reins to Lucien. He thanked him and helped Celeste up, then climbed on himself. They rode in silence.

* * *

"All right. If we're going to keep running like this, you need to know how to ride a horse."

Celeste stood with her arms crossed over her chest and her lips pressed into a thin line. "It's easy once you get the hang of it." he assured her, and seeing no change in her expression, added, "You'll be fine. I promise." He took her arm. "I never break my promises." Celeste smiled.

Lucien first showed her how to hoist herself up on to the horse, and how to sit when she was riding: sidesaddle for a dress, and straddling for trousers (she had finally agreed to wear them, at least for riding). He taught her all of the commands and walked beside her as she rode, then climbed on behind her.

"You're doing great." he said softly, placing a hand on either side of her waist to keep himself upright. "Keep her steady, and don't be afraid to command her every now and then." Celeste gave a breathy laugh and shook her head slightly. "If you keep on whispering in my ear like that, Lucien Lachance, I swear," she murmured. Lucien was taken aback. He pulled back and loosened his grip on her. He was silent for the rest of the ride, and she didn't press any further.

* * *

" _Pst._ Lucien, wake up."

Lucien awoke to Celeste's voice in his ear and her elbow nudging him hard in the ribs. He grunted, rubbing where she had poked him. "Sorry," she whispered, straightening up.

Lucien looked around, and knew immediately that they were in Bruma. The road was not pathed; it was packed, rocky soil, and the fields of grass lining it on either side were white and stiff with frost. The only colour in Bruma's barren countryside was the violet patches. They were never coated in ice, and they never withered and died. There was something that kept them going, but no one quite knew what it was.

Looking ahead, Lucien saw the great, snow-dusted city. He could see the church steeple looming in the fog. Celeste let out a low whistle. "Beautiful, isn't it?" Lucien remarked.

They reached the city in a period of minutes. Bruma had never been particularly busy, but there was always a slight hum in the air that reminded Lucien of the cicadas down south. Beside him, Celeste drew her cloak around her and pulled up her hood. There wasn't any sign of the baron's men just yet.

They rented a room and retired immediately, though it was nearly midday. Their plan was to rest and continue on to Cheydinhal as soon as possible; they couldn't spend too much time in one place, or someone would surely catch them.

Celeste rose first. She shook Lucien awake gently, then returned to her bed. As she pulled on her boots and began to lace them, she asked, "Why are we going to Cheydinhal, of all places?"

Lucien stopped midway through pulling on his shirt and sighed. "I can't explain it now. It'll all make sense once we get there." Celeste glanced up at him. "Promise?"

"Promise."

She stood and brushed dirt from her skirts, then tied her cloak around her shoulders. Her hair was tied back in a tight plait, to prevent any of it from being seen. She adjusted her hood and tightened her laces one more time, then looked to Lucien. They intertwined their fingers and left, returning the room key to the innkeep.

It was the Imperial City all over again. Standing just inside the city gates were five of the baron's men. They were talking to the Captain of the Guard, and thankfully they didn't pay Lucien and Celeste any mind. It was outside that they had to be careful - the rest of the men were camped near the stables, watering their horses and themselves. While Lucien untied the mare, he made sure that Celeste was close beside him.

"Say, that's a fine wife you've got there." one of the men called to Lucien. Celeste was silent, her head pointed down. She climbed on the horse and sat sidesaddle, pulling her hood down again. Lucien smiled at them. "Sure is. Been deaf since she was a girl." he replied, adopting an accent. Some of the men wolf-whistled. "You're a lucky man, you are."

Once they were out of earshot and out of sight of the men, Lucien heard Celeste let out something like a growl behind him. "Oh, you're not a lucky man." she said. "That fool of a soldier is the luckiest man alive because he's not dead yet."


End file.
